To what of short life can be,
Lasting in what feels what only seconds,
Others hours,
Maybe weeks to months to years.

It ticks away at us,
Leaving matter of moments to share what is needed.

In hours of this,
Wasting breath of petty words,
Is a sign that one wants the lime light.

In others eyes,
They just want to be heard for what they have to say,
With no fear that there can be more than one voice,
For others.

The voices range vastly for that,
Be them of well known voices,
Or the little mice squeak of white noise.

It’s a voice that wants to be heard.

Shutting them out of those of lower stats,
Changes little of doing so,
For everyone has a voice,
Keeping them still,
Will make them louder.

The voice comes from many,
Even when few of heard,
For the lack of the pop vote.

Everyone has a voice.

Be them screamers or whimpers.

It only takes one to lend an ear,
One lone ear,
To know someone is hearing.

A double ending sword it is,
For whatever the words may be,
That leave the lips of any voice.

But that is why the skin has become,
Tougher over the years,
Handling whatever the voices may say.

Even if the only voice others are going to listen,
Is oneself’s voice.

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